The Right Price
by Skarto
Summary: Just a little thing about what happened when Buck went to buy Keith.


The sunlight filtered in through the blinds and drew bars on Hoyt's desk. Buck watched them as they moved across the mahogany, tried to focus on anything but the relentless ache between his legs. He didn't even want to think about how long it had been. It was an itch that went deep, too deep to scratch by himself.

The door to the office banged open, and Hoyt appeared, a smile on his face. "Buck! Hah! Knew I'd be seeing you soon enough, I just knew it. Can I get you a drink, cigar?"

"No thanks. Just came here for one thing."

Hoyt lit a cigar of his own, sucked in the smoke until the tip glowed. "You heard about my latest arrivals, hm? Americans, all of them young and pretty. I won't waste your time by discussing the females, but the males…" He leaned back in his chair, fixed Buck with a steady eye. "Well, they won't be cheap."

"I can pay. I seem to recall you offering me a fifteen percent discount for my last job, too."

Hoyt pursed his lips, nodded. "That I did, that I did. Like I always say, an honest day's work for an honest day's pay. And a little extra, of course. No one else has come here sniffing after the girl, so you did your job well. Business before pleasure, though, I'm afraid." Hoyt withdrew a photo from his desk draw and threw it on the desk in front of Buck. "Have you heard the story of Snow White?"

Buck frowned, dug a bit of dirt out from under his fingernail. "Vaas called me a few days ago. Sounded… upset about something. He was yelling, carrying on like a maniac. Went to the bar a bit later and the locals were all talking about some kid that escaped his camp."

"One of three brothers that turned up. I was going to have a matching set, but Vaas decided to shoot the older one when they tried to escape. And now he's crying into his pillow every night because this kid keeps tearing apart his camps and killing his men, under the guidance of those native pricks."

"Why are you even still dealing with that mad dog?" Buck leaned forward. "I keep saying, he's a liability -"

"Buck, God love you. Even a mad dog has his uses. We didn't particularly need Grant Brody, and I'd rather not hear Vaas whine anymore. If he catches Jason, he should be happy enough."

"And if I catch him?"

Hoyt took a long drag of the cigar. "Bring him to me after you've finished playing with him. He's worth a lot, especially now. Might even be able to sell him to Japan. The Kyoto fighting pits are running out of fresh meat, so I hear. An American boy, an underdog who beat the odds?" Hoyt threw his arms out to the side. "They'll be lining up outside the door!"

"Seems a bloody waste of good flesh." Buck picked the photo off the desk, held it close to his face. The boy's face, wide eyes, a hint of tears, looked beautiful. God, what he wouldn't do to find that kid before Vaas did…

Hoyt pressed against his side, examined the picture along with him. "Yes, he's your type, isn't he? It's a shame, really. If he'd come in with the others, I'd have saved him for you. Unfortunately for you, my friend," Hoyt took the picture back, placed it in one of the drawers, "the Japs pay well. Very well."

"You say you got the fucker's baby brother?"

Hoyt waggled his finger. "He's not for sale. Already got a buyer, but I'm holding on to him until Jason shows up on this island. Which he will." Another drag of the cigar, and Hoyt looked him dead in the eye. "One of my men thought they'd fuck around with the baby, which-" he said, holding his hands up as though Buck had tried to interrupt, "is fine. Normally. But this guy, I think he's new. He decided to rough the kid up a bit when he wouldn't suck his dick. Kid nearly escaped, but the fucker put a bullet in his shoulder."

"Someone you need me to take care of?"

Hoyt hooted with laughter, and tapped his cigar into the ashtray. "Ahh, Buck! So eager! No, no, I have a new batch of recruits coming in in two weeks. This guy… he's going to be my little object lesson to them. No one breaks the rules. No one."

Buck let Hoyt drift into his own head for a moment before clearing his throat. "So, all three brothers are out. How many are left?"

Hoyt blew out a long breath and put his feet up on the desk. "There's a kid still with Vaas. Little stoner kid, you won't like him. But fuck, he is loaded. You won't believe how much his dear papa is willing to pay. Vaas sent us two local boys, and we've got one of the Americans free downstairs."

"Doesn't sound like I have much choice." Buck frowned, wished he'd accepted that drink. "The local sods are as bloody boring as anything. And the last thing I need is an angry mob outside my door, or a shank in my kidney at the bar."

"Ah, well, you might like the American I have on show, then. Not quite a Jason Brody, but fuckable anyway, eh?" Hoyt stood, gestured towards the door. "Come on. Let's go see the product."

-:-

At least the cells were cool, even if they did stink like shit and vomit. Privateers clustered together, talking, smoking, weapons loose over their backs or at their hips. Buck let his eyes flick over their faces with a kind of bored lust. He saw a few he wanted, a few he'd had before, and lots he didn't recognise. Woe betide Jason Brody if he ever tried to crack open Hoyt's little beehive. What could one man do against a swarm?

Hoyt stopped at the first cell, hit the door with his fist. "Baby Brody," he said to Buck, and started to move off again. Buck peered through the hatch. The kid was huddled on the bare mattress, knees drawn up to his chest, staring at the door with wide eyes.

"Wait."

Hoyt turned, frowned at him. "I said he's –"

"Not for sale. Right. No harm in looking, though, is there?"

Hoyt smirked. "Ah, Buck. How can I deny my favourite employee? Very well. No playing with this one, though. That bullet wound needs to heal. I won't have my buyers saying that I sell rotten products."

"He's safe with me, mate. I just want to see if there's any… family resemblance. If you catch my drift."

"So I do, so I do. Who's on guard today? Sam!"

"_Ja,_ sir?" Sam's bald head poked out from behind a shelf. He nodded at Buck, came over to stand beside Hoyt.

"Mister Buck would like to view this one."

Buck smiled at Sam. "All right, Germany? Why don't you ever come visit me anymore? I miss our poker nights."

Sam shrugged, took a set of keys from his belt. " Been busy here. And you never play fair, Crocodile Dundee."

"Nah, you're just a sore loser."

"Boys, please." Hoyt looked at his watch. "I have half an hour before the conference with Hong Kong. Time is money. Come on." He clicked his fingers at Sam, who then unlocked the door of the cell. "Stick around, Sam. We'll need one in the next room opened as well."

When Buck stepped into the dingy cell, the boy flinched, tried to press himself further against the wall. His arm remained still at his side, dragged. Buck could sympathise. He'd felt a bullet wound before. Although several years ago, the scar on his leg remained.

The boy's eyes never left his face. The closer Buck got to him, the more he shrank into himself. But he didn't look away.

"It's a shame he's already sold you. We could have had a lot of fun together, eh?" Buck touched the side of the boy's face with his fingertips. Smooth skin. Not even a hint of stubble. He turned back towards Hoyt. "How old's he?"

Hoyt crossed his arms, leaned against the doorway. "We think about nineteen, twenty."

Buck looked into the boy's eyes, and trailed his fingers down the side of his face. The boy stared, his eyes so, so wide.

"Please…" his voice trembled, quiet. "Please, I want to go home. I want my mom…"

"Tshhh, tshhh." The noise hissed from between his teeth, over his lips. "It's all right."

"My brothers, where are they?" Those eyes filled with tears. "Please, I want to see them."

Buck's fingers wove themselves through the kid's hair. Black, not a dark brown, but a solid coal-black. The kid blinked up at him, and the tears fell. Beautiful. Buck slid his thumb over the kid's lips.

"Tshhh, my dear. Be quiet."

The kid closed his mouth. Buck had to admire how Hoyt exploited human nature. People generally went out of their way to avoid conflict. Captives would try to please their captors if their own lives were in danger. Once you got them in a cage, a lot of them were docile, would follow you on a leash.

Hoyt cleared his throat. "That's the sound you make when you're aiming at a man with your gun, did you know that?"

Buck grunted, let the kid go with a final, reluctant pat. "I'm usually firing a weapon either way. All right, I'm done. Let's see the other one."

Hoyt led him out of the cell, through into the next room. Here, the cells were bars instead of solid steel doors. Hoyt led him to the end, then tapped on the very last cell's door. "This one." Sam unlocked the door, and this time all three of them stepped in.

The American stood up from his sitting position on the floor. A slice of duct tape covered his mouth and his hands were bound in front of his with rope. He glared at them, and Buck didn't think the muffled noises he made were supposed to be terms of endearment.

Hoyt made a 'tsk' sound behind Buck. "These Americans, they have such mouths on them. It's all 'f- this', 'f- you'… fuckers need to learn respect."

"I can teach him." Buck reached out, and the American leaned away from him. Buck grabbed his hair. A whimper of pain. Good. He let his eyes run over the boy. Just the right level of rebellion for him. Face was handsome, nice blue eyes that narrowed at Buck. Buck let his hand wander, touched the American's chest before curving down and cupping between his legs. The man made a sharp noise, tried to pull away. Buck kept his hand tight in his hair. "Fucking stay still!"

Like the boy in the other cell, the American stopped squirming. Buck grunted, slipped his hand around back and squeezed the American's buttocks. Nice. Definitely no Jason Brody, but he'd do. "How much do I owe you for him, then?"

Hoyt whipped a calculator out from his breast pocket. "Hm. Nine thousand, with a fifteen percent deduction is… eight thousand, four hundred." He put the calculator back. "Paying by cash?"

"Of course. It's on my boat."

"Wonderful. I'll send someone out to get it. Are you going to take the product with you, or do you want it delivered?"

"I'll take him with me. Figure the time together'll let us bond a bit."

The American grunted, glared at him. Hoyt smiled. "Sam, get the product cleared up, would you? Mister Buck and I will be in my office when you're done."

"Sir."

Buck gave the American one last squeeze. "Watch out with the hose this time. I don't want him dying of hypothermia before I get him out of here, right?"

Sam gave a playful salute. "_Ja_. I'll be there in a few minutes."

Buck walked alongside Hoyt. As they passed the Brody kid's cell, he couldn't resist another look in. The kid had his head down. Sobs jolted his body. Dammit. Why the hell wasn't he free? Just Buck's luck. No Jason Brody, and his cute little baby brother was promised to someone else. Ah well. The other American would be enough for the time being.

Hoyt jabbered on, prices and products spilling from his lips. Buck barely heard him. He wondered how much the photograph of Jason would cost.


End file.
